The room was quiet again.
Dark. Cold. Wet.
Drip.
Drip.
Iris Hollow kept her eyes open.
Her wrists burned. Her shoulders hurt. But one thought stayed inside her head like fire:
I have to save my family.
She pulled at the ropes slowly. Then harder. The rope scraped her skin. Pain flashed through her arms.
She bit her lip.
She did not stop.
Again. Again. Again.
The chair shook. Her hands hurt. Her breath came fast.
Then — she saw something on the floor, near the wall.
A small shard of glass.
Shining faintly.
Hope rose inside her chest.
If she could reach it… she could cut the rope.
But it was far.
Too far.
She pushed the chair little by little, dragging herself across the floor. The legs of the chair slid, then stopped, then slid again.
She slipped.
She fell sideways.
The chair crashed down hard, hitting the floor.
Pain exploded through her body. She gasped — but she did not cry.
She looked again.
The glass was closer now.
She dragged herself inch by inch.
Her arms shook. Her stomach scraped against the ground. Sweat covered her face.
She tried.
Failed.
Tried again.
Fell again.
Her breath turned weak.
But she kept going.
Finally, her fingers touched the cold glass.
She grabbed it tight.
Her hands trembled as she brought it behind her back. Slowly, carefully, she began to cut the rope. Each movement was slow and painful. The glass dug into her skin, but the rope began to loosen.
One thread. Then another.
At last — her hand slipped free.
She worked on the other rope. Then her ankles.
The ropes dropped to the floor.
She was free.
Her heart raced.
Family. I have to reach them. I have to warn them.
She rushed to the door.
Locked.
She searched the room quickly — walls, corners, floor.
Nothing.
Then she looked up.
A small window — high, near the ceiling.
Hope returned.
She dragged the chair under it. She climbed up, shaking, standing on her toes.
Her hands caught the edge.
She pulled herself up, pushing with all her strength.
Her arms burned.
Her body hurt.
But she climbed.
And somehow — she slipped through the window, scraping her skin, falling outside into the night.
Cold air hit her face.
She ran.
But she did not get far.
Two men appeared from the shadows — guards of Vance Calder.
They grabbed her. She screamed and fought, kicking, twisting, scratching — but they were stronger.
They dragged her back.
Minutes later, Veronica and Vance entered.
Veronica looked calm.
Vance looked annoyed.
"So," Vance said softly, "you tried to escape."
He nodded once.
The servants began whipping her.
Her body jerked forward. Pain covered her like fire. She cried out, then again, then again — until her voice grew weak.
Her vision blurred.
She fell.
Everything turned faint and dark.
"Water," Veronica said.
A bucket of cold water hit her face.
Iris gasped back to life, choking.
Veronica knelt in front of her.
"Listen carefully," she said quietly. "Your family is finished. All of them."
Iris shook her head weakly.
"No… you're lying…"
Veronica took out her phone. She turned the screen toward Iris.
News headlines.
Pictures.
Fire.
Police lights.
Names.
Her family.
Gone.
Something deep inside Iris shattered.
She cried — long, broken tears — the kind that came from the soul.
Vance stepped closer, voice sharp.
"You tried to escape. You fool. Now you will get real punishment."
He grabbed her hair and struck her.
Iris fell again.
But before he could continue, Veronica's voice cut through the room.
"Stop."
Vance paused.
Veronica looked at Iris like she was no longer human — only useful.
"I have better plans for her," she said. "Don't damage her too much."
Then she called out:
"Bring William. The doctor. Now."
A servant rushed out.
Veronica's eyes stayed on Iris.
"Tell him to test her blood. We need her for our research. If she is useful… she will become our living material."
Iris lay on the floor.
Wet.
Weak.
In pain.
Her heart was breaking.
But under the pain…
A new feeling grew.
Cold.
Hard.
Sharp.
One day, she thought slowly.
I will destroy all of you.
The drip of water echoed again.
Drip.
Drip.
And the room filled with silence — and pain.
To be continued.